


Mer·e·tri·cious

by havisham



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Class Issues, Gen, Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:09:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're always saying that Jason needs to improve his vocabulary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mer·e·tri·cious

**Author's Note:**

> Set at some vague time before _A Death in the Family_. (Jason really does look like a mini-Bruce in that. Poor boy.)

**Mer·e·tri·cious**

**1\. Attracting attention in a vulgar manner.**

A synonym for gaudy.

Showing off.

A flip. A kick. A shout, too joyful for having broken a man’s jaw.

A canary yellow cape, made for swirling. A patch, right over his heart. R for Red-breasted Robin, the junior partner of the firm, a real boy wonder. And he’s got a pair of armored green short-shorts, which, to be fair, is as big a part of the legacy as anything else.

( _Dick_  sure did like it.)

Sure, it might be weird (but acceptable) on a tiny twelve-year-old, which he _had_ been... But now... Now, it looks _fairly_ obscene on a well-developed fifteen year old. Which he is.  But then again, the only people to notice usually soon have a pair of sprightly green elf-shoes on their faces, and so have other things to worry about than public standards of decency.

One other person notices.

Jason stretches -- preens-- makes sure he _does_ notice.

The darkness wavers. And sighs, _"Focus_ , Robin."  

The boy’s masked face doesn’t hide a smirk.

  
**2\. Plausible but false or insincere; specious:**   
_a meretricious argument._

_  
_

Jason Todd fidgets under scrutiny. This is a role he plays: of Jason Todd, adopted son of billionaire playboy, Bruce Wayne.

A man with odd tastes.

(Or so they say.)  

 

He pulls at his tie, his collar, carefully calibrated to look just right. Both feel suddenly too constricting. _Wrong_.

 

Women with tight faces and too-strong perfume coo at him, “Oh, but he looks just like you, Brucie!” And their husbands chortle, sweat shiny on their balding pates, and brimming with false cheer. “Sure he isn’t yours?”

  
This is an old rumor. It was the same with Dick. Bruce Wayne’s wards -- and then adopted son -- could be -- _might be_ \-- his -- _well._ They whisper to one another. _His bastards._ Things like that happen all the time. It did happen all the time.

 

Plausible, but false.

 

Jason tries to catch Bruce’s eye, but he’s busy chatting with some society dame, his eyes trained elsewhere.

Later, when it's time to go home, his hands presses into Jason’s shoulders.

 It's either a mark of affection, possession, or restrain.

(Or all three. Probably all three.)  

"How was your evening, chum?"

"Crummy. How was yours?"

"Informative. Mrs. Lear's corporation is almost certainly engaging in fraudulent business practices."

"Huh. Can you punch those white collar guys?"

"Sometimes."

**3\. Of or relating to prostitutes or prostitution:**   
_meretricious relationships._

_  
_

Patrolling the streets of Gotham give lots of opportunity to observe meretricious relationships in action. Especially when some john -- or some pimp -- gets rough with the girls, and then Robin swoops in to save the day (he’s not without back-up, but, they have an understanding here, this is Robin's thing) and  if he’s especially rough with some of them (the really shitty ones)  no one’s complaining (who isn’t on the ground, bleeding, that is.)  And yeah, he’s allowed to feel proud, just a little bit.

Inevitably, the girls run (we don’t do it for the thanks), and soon they’re going to be out there again, on the next day and the one after that.

So, one black eye on one asshole isn’t going to change the world.

All of It makes him furious.

_Livid._

  
Batman. He doesn’t _understand_ because, yeah, he’s brilliant (world’s greatest detective) but... At the end of the day, he can go home again (hurting), to his beautiful (gloomy) house, is served a good dinner (which he doesn’t eat) and, eventually, comes to rest in his big bed, on sheets with an impossible thread count, and have lots of (bad) dreams.

Jason feels like shit for thinking like that, because hey, _he’s got those things too_. But he didn’t always.

(And there’s a world of difference there.)

He breathes in the rarefied air of the Palisades (the air is cleaner here, the light brighter) and he knows, well, _this can’t last._

_It can’t ever last._

“Jay, what are you doing?” A light turns on, and it stings his eyes, too long in the dark. Bruce doesn’t look upset. His hair is slightly wet, like he just showered. He looks … soft. Or as soft as he lets himself be.

“Nothing.” And then, “Just working on my vocabulary.”

 

( _Defining_ things help you _conquer_ them.)


End file.
